


Behind the Mask

by theLastSalarygirl



Series: No-One Special [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLastSalarygirl/pseuds/theLastSalarygirl
Summary: I'm baaack- So, I've been thinking about why I never felt like finishing my other DA stories. Too much comedy and, most importantly, a creative dead end, because the main character was the Inquisitor. So many fanfics and fantasy literature in general focuses only on magic, the supernatural and larger-than-life characters. This time, I want to create a character that everyone can relate to. Someone who comes from, almost nothing- and yet dedicates what little they have to a cause, knowing the history books will probably never mention their name and other people will get praised for the work they have put in.So...Meet Danielle DeBarbaraque, daughter to a the steward of Marquis DeCiel (don't kill me for butchering the French language), whose once well-respected noble house has long dwindled into irrelevancy and poverty who finds herself flung into the middle of chaos when an open rift and (later) ruthless bandits kill almost everyone she knows. Will she find a new home in the Inquisition? Will she find someone who can look past her low status and love her for who she is?After all, she is no-one special.





	Behind the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my native language...

„You have a strange sense of humor, Milady.“  
The merchant gruffly handed the piece of parchment back to Danielle shaking his head frantically as if he believed the words spilling out of his mouth would not be enough to make her understand.

“The world’s going to shit- pardon my language- civil war, demons, bandits and what not…! And you seriously expect me to take your word for granted that I’ll get paid by some Orlesian noble come springtime?”

Maker! He must not notice I’m bluffing...   
“You won’t have to take my word for it- this is an official deed signed by the Marquis Lapis deCiel himself, stating that...”

He impatiently cut her off with a rude gesture.

“Fuck your Marquis. This is Ferelden. I won’t do business with anyone who’s hiding their face like a common thief-” he vividly gestured to her mask, making her feel even more self-aware than before- if that was even possible. Orlesian masks were crafted to be worn in a mild climate. Out here on the edge of the Frostback Mountains, Danielle had found herself silently cursing the icy cold metal on her face, stinging and biting the delicate skin around her eyes, at least 4 times a day.

She clenched her fists- just for a short moment- and resisted the urge to slap the man across his ugly, broad face.  
“He mustn't notice that he’s getting to me,” she thought.  
She heard a faint wailing noise behind her and slowly turned around, trying her best not to look too worried.

There they were: a ragged, tired looking group of 5 people, huddled together in the middle of the small town square, starved, freezing and desperate. They looked up when they noticed her stare and she couldn’t help but notice the faint, hopeful smiles creeping across their faces in return.  
Five people.   
Five people.   
The only ones left.  
They all depended on her.

She straightened her shoulders and spun around facing the merchant with grim determination.

Her father would be furious at her. The mask had been handed down their family from generation to generation, the only evidence that her now impoverished and disgraced house had once been well-reputed and influential across Thedas. At least that was the story father had always insisted on telling at every banquet he attended in his role as steward to the Marquis DeCiel. But father was dead. The Marquis was dead.

Her mother would be sorely disappointed in her. But her mother had left for her family’s home in Calanhad right before the breach in the sky had opened up. Word of her husband’s death probably had not even reached her yet.

They had been 16 when they had fled the estate after a rift had torn open in the middle of the main hall, during the night spilling out demons and monstrosities.  
There were only five of them left now. And her.  
Everyone depended on her.

She tore the mask off her face and handed it to the old man.

“Here. This should be more than enough to pay for everything,” she said calmly and barely noticed the tear trickling down her cheek.


End file.
